


The Fallen

by anachronism



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (I assume), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blue Eyes, Brotp, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Season 5 AU, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, briefly, or whatever floats your boat I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4452530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anachronism/pseuds/anachronism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was an unspoken truth between them. If Stiles ever got into the sort of trouble that couldn't be fixed by professional healthcare providers, Scott would turn him.</p>
<p>They'd never questioned if Scott would get there in time, if the bite would be enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying this new thing where I actually post the things I've written.

Stiles knows he’s screwed. He’s in so much pain he can barely breathe. His skin is a shredded mess. He probably could have gone up against a lawn mower bare-handed and come out looking better than he does right now.

The chimeras keep getting stronger, faster, smarter.

His bat is somewhere to his right, out of reach, and useless besides. All it ever really did was make him feel better, just a fraction more secure. Look at how well that worked out for him. If Liam hadn’t shown up to chase the chimera off, he would be dead.

He can feel his blood seeping from his body. It sticks to his skin and weighs down his clothes. A numbing chill crawls into his limbs and makes itself comfortable.

_I’m going to die here_ , he thinks, _in this empty parking lot, on this depressingly cloudy day. Alone_.

There is a faint chorus of snarls in the distance, and he wants to be concerned. He should be concerned, but he doesn’t have the energy.

Instead, he blinks at the sky. Maybe it will rain. He deserves some poetic rain, if not today, then at his funeral. His sense of drama appreciates the mental image.

There’s a shadow, interrupting his view of the sky. “No, no, no,” it says, like a mantra, too many times to count. “Stiles, _no_.”

His upper body is elevated. Pain that had been fading away into the background returns to the forefront with a fierce vengeance. He trembles as he feels something grind in a way he’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to. His head is cradled gently to someone’s chest. “Come on, stay with me.”

“Scott,” he breathes, too quiet for human ears to pick up.

“Stiles!” As close as they are, Scott still manages to hover anxiously. “Liam! Call nine-one-one!”

Stiles can hear Scott’s heartbeat, elevated, but strong. All of a sudden, there’s a lot he wants to say. A few snarky comments leap to the forefront of his mind, followed closely by gallows humor and the iconic Terminator’s, _Hasta la vista, baby_.

He’d probably ruin the delivery, in his state.

There are more important things to be said anyway. _I love you,_ is a given. _Keep fighting for the both of us_ , would be nice, but he doesn’t think he has the breath for that. And he doesn’t want to pull an Allison and have people guessing about his last words long after he’s gone.

Shit. He’s actually going to die here.

His _dad_.

So he says, “I’m sorry,” because he is. He has so much to be sorry for. For not being strong enough, or fast enough, for always being too weak when it really mattered. He’s _so_ sorry for the Nogitsune. What a disaster.

He’s sorry that he’s going to leave Scott behind to deal with this mess all by himself. Scott has other people now, but for so long it had just been the two of them. In some ways, it still was.

“I’m sorry,” he hears echoed back to him. Water droplets fall on his face. “Stiles, I can’t lose you too.”

_Is it raining?_

Something sharp grips his shoulder. His nerves flare in pain, and it’s the final straw that breaks him and drags him down into dark oblivion.

-

Scott bites Stiles and Stiles goes slack. Liam has to strain to hear his heartbeat, which seems to grow fainter with every ounce of blood he loses. There’s a lot of blood. Its coppery scent has jammed itself in Liam’s nostrils and will probably stay with him for days to come.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“Please,” Liam says, “just send someone.” His hands are shaking, and his eyes are burning gold, but never before has he felt as powerless as he does now. “He’s dying.”

The operator says something else that Liam doesn’t hear, because Stiles has stopped breathing.

He smells like death.

Liam’s phone slips out of his hand. Scott tilts his head back, his eyes an angry red, and _howls_. The sound resonates with something primal inside Liam and, moments later, he follows suit.

Animal control arrives mere seconds after the EMTs. All that’s waiting for them is a terrifyingly large pool of blood.

In the meantime, it has begun to rain.

-

Deaton’s exam table is exactly as uncomfortable as it looks. Stiles, however, is in a lot better condition than he expected he’d be, so he can’t exactly complain. His clothes are still shredded and damp. What’s left of his shirt is stiff with rust-brown blood. The smell of it is a sharp tang in his nose that bites at his raw senses and sits heavy on the back of his tongue.

His skin has knitted itself back together, as smooth and unblemished as though nothing had ever happened. He’s not even in any pain. There’s no lingering muscle ache, and no discomfort from having occupied such a stiff surface for an extended length of time.

Off to the side, Scott is sleeping in a chair, his head propped up his chin. Stiles pushes himself up slowly. He flinches when a car drives by the clinic and his hearing focuses in on it, giving the illusion that the car is no more than ten feet away from his person. Water churns in the gutter by the sidewalk. Voices drift by, discussing the upcoming school week. Someone’s bicycle squeaks as it hits a small bump in the road.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and tried to pull his focus back in. Thankfully, it seems to work. The sounds beyond the walls of the clinic fade into the background noise he’s become familiar with as a human.

He slides off the examination table. The light slap of feet meeting the floor wakes Scott up and he’s on his feet just as fast, tired, but clearly relieved. Neither of them say a word. They both just lean into each other, holding on fiercely.

It had been a close call. Too close.

“Thank you,” Stiles says eventually.

Scott makes a soft hiccupping noise that falls just shy of hysterical. His embrace grows tighter.

They don’t let go until Deaton wanders in and pointedly suggests that they call their friends and share the good news.

They’re much more composed by then anyway.

-

Stiles begs off all forms of celebratory get-togethers by declaring his need for real sleep in a real bed. Also, he feels super-gross. He’s going to shower, stat. His clothes should probably go in a biohazard waste-bin, but he’ll settle for double-bagging them in plastic and tossing them the normal way.

“Call me when you’re ready,” Scott says. “I’ll walk you through the basics. Until then, just watch your heartrate. Don’t do anything exciting.”

“Got it buddy.” It’s not like he’s completely clueless after all. He’s helped Scott, Malia, and Liam with the shift. That’s not to say that he won’t have questions. It’s nice to know that he doesn’t have to face this alone.

Honestly, all he wants right now is some time to himself. So he’s relieved that when he gets home, his dad isn’t there. Bless Scott for not calling his father and making him worry all night. He also promised not to tell his mom until Stiles got a chance to break the news to the sheriff.

The mirror in his bathroom confirms that he looks like a horror film extra, but before he cleans up, there’s one thing he needs to know.

He lets himself feel anxious, because he is, and it helps him speed up his heartrate a touch, enough to brush the new power coiled tight beneath his skin.

He stares at his reflection, and watches his eyes flash blue.

**Author's Note:**

> Some season 5 spoilers here.
> 
> The point of this story was a blue-eyed were-Stiles. If you think the cause of that was Matt Donovan, well, that's up to you. Personally, I don't think so. Donovan flat-out stated he wanted to kill the Sheriff. He was hell-bent on permanently and violently mutilating Stiles before his timely death. According to the show, a wolf's eyes only turn blue if they kill an _innocent_. However Donovan was being manipulated, he certainly wasn't innocent.
> 
> I blame the Nogitsune for this one. I have a tendency to equate the transformation of gold to blue eyes to that of the different stages of the Sharingan from Naruto. In order for the eyes to evolve, one needs to be in a situation of extreme mental duress. The Nogitsune killed plenty of innocent people while it was borrowing Stiles' body. If Stiles doesn't blame himself for any of it, I'll eat my sock. However, I will admit that it was season 5 that inspired me to write this. 
> 
> Feel free to come debate the matter with me on [tumblr](http://www.anachronismsworld.tumblr.com). Until next time.


End file.
